Accordion to Who?
by Melancholy Ink Splatter
Summary: Olive sets out for dough, deciding to try a new bakery. When she arrives however things turn ugly. Can Digby save her? Involves undercover Germans, a forbidden trade, newfound love, and an awful lot of bad puns. Please take a look. Short fic.
1. Run, Digby!

**A/N: You don't really have to be familiar with Pushing Daisies to follow along. Hope you like it!**

At this exact moment the Pie Maker was twenty-nine years, two weeks, eight days, five hours, and eleven minutes old. The dough which he was rolling underneath a large rolling pin was tougher than usual, the flour having been distributed from another source than that which he was used to. It flaked easily and seemed to cackle in the face of his principles. Ned's principles were, in a word, essential. Essential to maintaining control over his already complex existence. Chuck, who was also an element in his life which threatened his principles-however more sweet and, in Ned's strongest opinion, completely worth every risk-could easily see that something was wrong.

"Are you stress baking?" she asked gently, making sure not to brush his arm as she crossed to the other side of the room to retrieve some peach streaked dishes.

"Not yet. But if this dough doesn't stop cackling in the face of my principles I might start. Though... I still couldn't due to the inferior dough."

Ned's childhood sweetheart glanced at the mischievous dough before heading for the cupboard where Ned kept the measuring cups. She filled one with water and set it in front of him with a grin.

"Already tried that," he said with a stiff huff, crossing his arms. "This dough will turn to soup before it assumes anything resembling the shape of a pie crust. I think Olive must have gone somewhere else for supplies."

In fact, Olive Snook had indeed gone somewhere else for pie supplies.

* * *

It was raining, and though the waitress was prepared with her see-through umbrella and oversized rain boots, she had not managed the entire walk to their usual supplier, instead stopping a good five blocks earlier in front of another.

"Well, Digby," Olive said to the Pie Maker's golden retriever. "how different can they be? I don't even know why Ned doesn't just make the dough himself."

Digby concurred with a bark, his tail wagging for no apparent reason other than the mention of his master's name. Olive Snook opened the door of the shabbier, if closer to work, bakery. There was no quaint bell to welcome her, nor the fresh smell of baked goods. In fact, there was another smell all together. The darkly lit room reeked of cigarettes and boredom as the sounds of clanging plastic met her ears.

"Hello?" she said hesitantly, the Pie Maker's loyal dog by her side. He himself did not mind the smell, but knew that the clanging sound was none other than the din made by cue balls as they knocked into one another across a stretch of billiard table. He was wary to continue into the unfamiliar room, having had an unpleasant experience with the game when he was a puppy. Though it unsettled him greatly, he decided it best not to say anything, following the waitress closely as she approached the source of the clangs and smells.

Olive Snook, finally noticing what Digby had known all along, watched for a moment in the shadows as the Snooker game progressed between two Germans.

"We must make sale soon or we have to shut down all together," one said with a thick accent, resting on his cue pole. He was heavily bearded with glasses that wouldn't have fit him as a small child let alone a forty-seven year old man. The other waved his anorexic hand, dismissing the warning.

"Pah! Our sales will go back up. People still want-"

But Digby cut him short, realizing almost too late that a third German was quickly approaching him and Olive from behind. Olive's first reaction was to look down at the golden retriever questioningly, but soon heard the rapid footsteps for herself, unintentionally angling her umbrella so that it was facing directly toward the third German's neck, knocking him backwards as he clutched at his throat, coughing fiercely.

"Woops!" she exclaimed, trying to catch him before his large figure collided with the unswept floor. She had no such luck however and ended up falling along with him. Before the two could salvage their composure however, Germans one and two were towering above them.

"Adler?" the anorexic one called from above.

"I'm-" cough "fine, Klaus."

The bearded German, also known as Rolf, helped Olive up. However, his next words were not very helpful at all. Nor were they pleasant as Rolf shook her by her bright pink raincoat.

"Who sent you?" he demanded, heavy eyebrows revealing his severity. "Are you the buyer?"

"Am-am I the-? Yes, I came in for some dough," she stammered, unnerved by the angry baker, who was not actually a baker at all. Olive tried not to run when the man let go of her, finding Digby by her side enough confidence for now. The three Germans exchanged a wary look and a shrug supplied by Rolf.

"So... you're not here for... you know?"

Olive glanced between the three, unsure of what to say.

"She is not buyer," Adler exhaled.

"This is your fault, Rolf!" Klaus said, pointing a thin finger at him. "If you'd taken down that stupid bakery sign sooner-"

"And what? Replaced it with our real trade? Yoh, that would look good! "Illegal Accordion Sales, come on in!" He laughed mockingly.

"You're illegal accordion dealers?" Olive questioned with surprise.

The facts were these: Klaus, Adler, and Rolf had moved from Germany to the states back when the accordion business was thriving. They'd had an establishment and a decent amount of customers until one day someone hit a bad note. The someone was one Albert Aqberto, president of _Accordions by Aqberto Accordion Manufacturing_, and one morning before work he was found dead in his office. The murder weapon was never found, though the wounds had clearly been made by one of the instruments he'd dedicated his life to selling. The police shut the prestigious company down, halting the flow of accordion trade. Suspicion and pointed fingers began to fly, creating a bad reputation for the accordion dealers till the trade was forbidden all together. Desperate to survive, the three Germans took refuge in an abandoned bakery, hoping to start from scratch in the safety of flour and cookware. However, none of the three men knew anything about baking; and what was worse, they all missed the familiar trade they'd all too recently shared. So they went underground, selling the banned instrument in secret.

Digby, occupying himself by sniffing the premises, found several boxes of accordions, all of them in pristine condition. He also found a package wrapped in paper which smelled faintly of German sausage, a treat he usually only received on his birthday or when Ned was feeling particularly generous. He glanced back at Olive and the Germans before snagging it for himself. Just then, however, his master's employee let out a howl of distress. Though he hadn't caught all of it due to his intense scavenging, Digby had heard parts of their conversation, such as "knows too much," and "must stay here." Ready to aid the human who often scratched his belly as she ranted about how heartbroken she was over the Pie Maker, he growled viciously through the parcel he'd found.

"Run, Digby!" Olive Snook told him as the Germans barred her way from the door. _Run?_ thought the good intentioned canine. He whimpered in protest but Olive was insistent. "Tell Ned where I am! Go, boy!" Not about to disobey, Digby reluctantly, if speedily exited the bakery that was not a bakery any longer, racing through the rain back to his master.

**A/N: Wrote this on a whim, actually just popped out while I was gearing up to write an epilogue for AiBL (a fic I wrote for Twilight). This story isn't going to be very long, five chapters max, though I'm guessing three-ish. Hope you liked it so far and PLEASE REVIEW! -bribes with pie-**


	2. Hired Help

The courageous golden retriever sped home, parcel in tow, delighting in the breeze as it picked up the subtle scent of German sausage from the package's wrapping. He ignored the more powerful aroma of flour and yeast. Standing on his hind legs, he propelled the swinging door to the Pie Hole open, wagging his tail in triumph. He sped into the kitchen, having to stop abruptly when he spotted Ned just around the corner.

"Digby," Ned said lightheartedly.

Digby dropped the parcel, sitting down in front of it.

"Did Olive have you bring that in for me? Good boy," he said, wishing he could give his faithful friend a pat or scratch behind the ears. Careful not to graze the dog's fur as he went, the Pie Maker bent down to retrieve the dough. Digby whimpered when Ned turned away.

"Hm?" Ned asked, turning back around.

Digby turned toward the restaurant, trying to show his master to the door where he desperately needed to head. He gave an abrupt bark, turning in a circle before facing the front entrance again.

"Can't play now. There are pies to be made."

But Digby did not want to make pies. He wanted to save Olive from the clutches of the three illegal accordion dealers. He barked again, frustrated that he could not just grab his master by his apron and pull him along. But why not? The canine knew that only fur touching skin would result in his demise, and the apron was in no way a part of Ned's figure.

"Digby! No, bad dog!" The Pie Maker floundered as his dog tugged him out among the tables filled with customers. HIs arms were raised high for fear of accidentally hitting his pet or his customers. Pie stuffed faces glanced up at the curious spectacle before shrugging and returning to their desert. "_Digby_!" Ned reprimanded, all too aware of the scene they were making. Unable to think of any way to get his dog off of him, he began to walk with him, approaching the front doors.

By an unlucky coincidence, private detective Emerson Cod flung open the door, hitting the Pie Maker in the face. Ned staggered back, clutching his soon to be bruised chin.

"Ow!"

"What you doing standing in front of a door like that?" Emerson exclaimed, taking off his soaked hat.

"It was-Dig-" the Pie Maker stammered.

"Never mind. Don't want to know. What's with the pit bull?" Emerson pointed at Digby, who was beginning to get a horrible feeling that he would not be able to persuade Ned to go with him. HIs tail drooping, he reluctantly let go of the apron. Before Ned could explain, Mrs. Pepperstein, a new but frequent customer of his, walked over.

"What kind of place are you running here sonny?" she demanded, her feathered, wide-brimmed hat bobbing as she spoke. "Dogs running around everywhere, no refills?"

"Actually there was only one dog, and we always give free refills," Ned tried to say with a smile.

"Well your service is slower than molasses then," she said with crossed arms, her frown making her wrinkled face distorted.

"I'll fix that right away, Mrs. Pepperstein," Ned said, turning quickly to Emerson. "I need your help."

Emerson rolled his eyes. "I just came in here for a piece of pie and there are dogs and customers running around all over the place,"

"One dog, one customer," Ned corrected under his breath." Please."

Emerson Cod sighed, dumping his overcoat and hat in the nearest empty booth. He escorted Digby by his collar up to Ned's apartment, the helpless animal whimpering in defeat.

Back in the kitchen, Chuck failed to find a solution to the inferior dough Digby had brought Ned.

"This dough will turn to soup before it assumes anything resembling the shape of a pie crust," the frustrated Ned cried. "In all my life I've never worked with such unwilling dough!"

"And in all my life I've never worked with such needy people," Emerson commented.

"I'm not needy. Because someone asks for help once doesn't make them needy."

"I believe you've asked me three times now. 'Emerson, go bring the crazy dog all the way up to the apartment. Emerson, go give Mrs. Peppershoes her refill. Emerson, can you-?"

"Hey, Emerson," Chuck interrupted, carrying a stack of teetering plates from the main room. "Would you mind helping me with these?"

"What is wrong with this dough?" Ned said incredulously, watching it flake away between his fingers.

"The only dough I care about is the kind you're gonna give me for playing waitress. Where's the blonde anyway?" Emerson said, taking the dishes from a grateful Chuck.

"Olive?" Ned asked, concentrating on pouring the right amount of flour. "She went to get pie supplies. She and Digby brought this.... _stuff_ back."

"I pieced that bit together myself. So why isn't the hired help helping?"

"Chuck, could you go find Olive?" Ned asked, though clearly not hugely concerned. It was a busy night. As chuck went off in search for Olive, Emerson set the pie smeared dishes in the large sink. He turned on the water but wouldn't bring himself to start cleaning anything. He had his limits. About to complain sarcastically once again to his associate, Emerson noticed a square piece of brown paper on the counter where Ned was pounding at the dough. Picking it up, he instantly recognized the logo of an out of business bakery a client of his used to work for before it was closed due to the client's mysterious disappearance.

"This is where she got that dough?" he asked skeptically.

Ned groaned in defeat, slamming down his rolling pin. "Wherever she got it we won't be buying from them anytime soon. Or ever."

"No problem there. This bakery has been out of business for over a year." Emerson informed him.

"Then how did she-"

"I can't find Olive anywhere," Chuck said, running back into the kitchen.

The Pie Maker got a horrible sinking feeling in his stomach. Suddenly Digby, who was normally quite well behaved, didn't seem so out of line. Now that Ned thought about it, Digby had been overly urgent with the apron tugging. For him to risk his own life by connecting himself physically with Ned was extremely rare. Also now that Ned thought about it, he'd never actually seen Olive return. His eyes flickered back to the paper in Emerson's hand, the sinking feeling turning into a drowning one.

"We have to go."

**A/N: Please let me know what you think. :D**


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